Now is the globe shrunk tight
Round the mouse’s dulled wintering heart
Weasel and crow, as if moulded in brass,
Move through an outer darkness
Not in their right minds,
With the other deaths. She, too, pursues her ends,
Brutal as the stars of this month,
Her pale head heavy as metal.
Snowdrop by Ted Hughes
This is my first choice from a new poetry collection, The Seasons, published by Faber and Faber. It’s one of those that I knew, but had completely forgotten, so lovely to rediscover it.
It’s a bit early for snowdrops really – looking at some photographs from last year, they were flowering here in mid-February. However, it’s been so mild so far this winter that all sorts of things that shouldn’t be blooming yet are doing so with enthusiasm. We have primroses out in the garden, admittedly on a sheltered south-facing bank, but still. I fear they could be in for a very cold and unpleasant shock, as the coldest and snowiest month here is usually February.
I usually make some snowdrop earrings at this time of year, so I’ll have to get a move on if I want to have some finished before the flowers are over.